DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN ANYTHING OF THIS STORY.
This will not be related at ALL to my last drabble. I must say, I was unsure if I would continue watching YD after last week. Now I am conflicted. While the plot seems to be building up to a frightful skirmish, I am disheartened by the fact that the characters we have known for a while are now either enduring through their troubles (Vlad, Erin and the Count) or are being killed off…
I would like to start this drabble by saying that I never liked Bertrand in S3. Hell, I barely liked him at the early stages of S4. But just as I was warming up to him as his loyalty to Vlad (and in extension, Erin) truly could not be discredited (at the same time we saw that he may know something about the way Erin has been acting that might shed a WHOLE new light on her persona), he was killed off. Which was a shame, and while fellow FanFic Authors will no doubt write various AUs where Bertrand survives/saved by Erin/is brought back through some miracle, I thought it would be nice to go with something old school to commemorate an old school vamp. Sorry it isn't very long; with many commitments, I had to quickly squeeze this – quite forcibly, I might add – out of my poor imagination.
It really does flash…
Bertrand stood in the centre of the scene. The surroundings seemed to fade from view as he tried to perceive them. He could just about sense- no, feel that Vlad and Erin were hiding behind that fog. Discussing the most mundane subjects known to both breatherkind AND vampirekind, knowing them. The Count was arguing with Ingrid over who possessed the higher position in the family, while Renfield and Wolfie ensured that Miss McCauley did not return to the hall.
After taking a single step, Bertrand heard an easily distinguishable sound. Simple. And yet so frightening. The sound of ash under his boot.
Looking down, Bertrand's sight starts to fail him as he catches sight of his hands and their contents.
I can't believe they were actually right…
Regaining focus, he starts to take in his actual environment once more. Sitting on a stool in the Garside Blood Bar, Bertrand watched as the teenage vampires unknowingly indulged themselves on soya blood. Many people pass him by: The Dracula vampires, Erin, Wolfie, the street vamps and even the Van Helsing slayers. And not a single stake was raised or a fang lowered. Vladimir's idea seemed to finally be working! The fools have finally caught on.
Through a rare gap in the crowd, Bertrand saw him. Vladimir, leaning against the wall as Erin leant sleepily into his chest. Making eye contact, Vladimir raised a glass of his favourite beverage in Bertrand's direction. A small quirk appeared on his lips, which could easily be deciphered as a smile if you knew the Chosen One personally. Which Bertrand was happy to return as he raised his own glass.
Glancing at his glass, he considered how one could simply become lost in the colour of red.
And even though I technically do not have one…
As detail started to fill his sight once more, he found he was no longer stationary. In fact, he felt a weird sense of repetition; something he had heard uttered, but never felt himself; a feeling of déjà vu, if you will.
But that was no longer important. He couldn't help but be swept away as a wave of triumph finally swept him away. No. Not just triumph, but joy. And a sense of belonging. At long last.
Entering the throne room, he surveys as the surroundings seem to be advancing to and past him faster than his eyes and brain could keep up with. He did however see Vlad, his purpose, standing there with his arms open wide in forgiveness. Acceptance.
Losing himself in the embrace, he felt something small and thin penetrate his chest through his ribs…
My life is flashing through my eyes.
"No." And with a tumble of ash, the features of Bertrand de Fortunessa was forever lost to the world.
After looking back on the episode, I now know that Erin was the one to actually say "no" at the end of the episode. But I can not help but think that, after such a tragic turn of events, this would be the last word that would pass his lips.
